


Waiting is the Hardest Part

by firefright



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Coma, Eventual Happy Ending, Flowers, Gen, Love Letters of a Sort, M/M, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9816818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but for Tim Drake nothing is ever so simple. His soulmate is Jason Todd, Robin, the boy Tim has admired from a distance for years, and while he should be over the moon about that, there's just one thing holding him back.Jason is in a coma, and no one knows when, or even if, he will wake up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my sole contribution to the JayTim Valentines Week this year, as well as the fic that snuck up behind me, hit me over the head with a baseball bat, and then ran off giggling as I chased it down over the last few weeks.
> 
> This story was inspired by the Day 5 prompt of Flower Shop/Love Notes. It's a long one (hence why I only did a single piece) but it also was a lot of fun to write, especially as I rediscovered certain aspects of canon I'd forgotten while researching for it along the way. I should also mention before you guys read on that I am not a medical expert in any way, so please take that side of this story with a grain of salt.
> 
> Many thanks to Skalidra for doing the final proofreading on this for me when I was too tired to make sense of the words anymore. Without you this story would be a lot messier <3

The day Tim Drake meets his soulmate for the first time is not the happiest of his life. In fact, it’s one of the saddest.

It’s also the day he finally gets to meet his heroes.

He’s thirteen, and the corridors of the Gotham General Hospital smell sterile as he slips through them, like the building itself has overdosed on bleach. Despite being alone. he’s barely paid any mind by the doctors and nurses on duty, all of whom march in one direction or another with tangible purpose. They’re too busy to pay attention to him, and even if they weren’t, it’s visiting hours, so it would be easy for him come up with an excuse as to why he’s here if anyone actually did try to confront him about it.

Tim has plenty of practice at slipping into places he shouldn’t like that. To him it’s easy, almost like a game, though this time one with a morbid destination.

Jason Todd’s room is already occupied when he gets to it, so Tim makes himself scarce while he waits for it to empty, sitting down in one of the worn green chairs that line the corridors a good few rooms away. He has his phone, and a book in his backpack. Alternating attention between one and the other is more than enough to keep anyone’s focus away from him.

As the clock ticks onwards, the ward gradually grows quieter. Men and women pass Tim by in equal measure. Some of them grieving, and all of them somber.

This isn’t a part of the hospital meant for smiles and laughter. Or hope, really.

Finally, the event he’s been waiting for happens. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bruce Wayne emerge out of Jason’s room in the company of both Alfred Pennyworth and a white-coated doctor. They’re talking in low, hushed tones, far too quiet for Tim to make out at this distance, but that’s all right. What he needs to know he’ll be able to find out from the chart on the end of Jason’s bed, or from the hospital’s computer records later on when he’s at home.

Tim holds his breath in his chest, counting the seconds and focusing intently on his phone until after they’ve passed him by. Only then does he unfold himself from his chair and make a hasty beeline for the room at the end of the corridor.

The door isn’t locked. There’s no need for it to be in a place like this, but still Tim only opens it just enough for him to be able to slip through the small gap before letting it fall shut again. Quietly, because a slam would attract attention, even now.

Then, after taking a steadying breath, he turns around to face the bed.

A month ago, Batman and Robin had taken off for parts unknown.

Two weeks ago, Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd came back from an unannounced trip to Ethiopia; one decidedly more whole than the other.

There’s no colour in this room. No bold green or red or yellow. Just white. White and white and more white.

White like the hospital gown Jason is wearing. White like the sheets on his bed, and the bandages that cover him almost from head to toe. He looks washed out under them and the tubes going into various parts of his body. Dead already beneath the lingering bruises and the ugly surgical wound across his head where they had to shave his hair away.

Looking at him, Tim finds himself wanting very badly to cry suddenly.

“Hey.” Is what he forces himself to say instead, hoarsely, and barely above a whisper. It’s a little like being in church, though of course his parents have never been around to take him there much. “I uh…”

He wishes he’d brought something suddenly. A gift, though he has no idea what would be appropriate in this situation.

Tim tries to keep his footsteps light as he approaches the bed, hating the tapping sound they make on the linoleum if he treads too heavily. The heartbeat monitor attached to Jason’s chest doesn’t seem like a thing that should be drowned out by any other noise.

“I, um… I wanted to…” Tim glances briefly at the medical chart hanging off the foot of the bed. He’s nowhere close to being an expert, but even the brief glimpse he gets of the words there are enough to tell him that the prognosis is bad. Very, very bad indeed.

Coma, was what the newspaper reports had said. Poor kid to be caught in that senseless bombing. Now he may never wake up again.

“I wanted to…” He can feel the dust motes in the air catching the back of his throat. “I wanted to see you. I wanted... “

He can do this.

“I wanted to say hello.”

_I wanted to say I’m sorry._

_I wanted to say you’re my hero._

_I wanted to say this isn’t right._

Only the first part makes it past his lips, as Tim grips onto the steel railing on the side of the bed. His head is filled with polaroids, snapshots of this still, silent boy in motion. Vibrant movement and a raucous laugh, its rough undertone that of a smoking habit taken up far too young. Bright canary yellow under the shadow of Batman’s cape; light in the darkness.

But not anymore.

He bends over double, gasping as his eyes water. Part of Tim feels like a fraud, an imposter. He didn’t know Jason, not really, so he doesn’t have a right to be this upset, not the way Jason’s family does. But he still is, because he’d always dreamed of meeting Jason, just not like this.

“Sorry. Sorry,” He whispers. “I’m sorry.”

He shouldn’t have come here, he knows that now. Getting up close and personal, it’s a mistake. It’s dangerous. Observing from afar is what he does, it’s what he’s always done. A better approach for everyone all round, really, and God knows what Bruce Wayne would think if he were to come back and catch him in here.

Hurriedly, Tim wipes his eyes on his sleeves. He needs to leave before that can happen.

Unthinkingly, he reaches down for Jason’s hand. It’s a motion he’s seen people do on TV before, a simple act of kindness and connection, and he thinks that if he’s broken this many rules already, he might as well take one more step into hell.

What he doesn’t expect, on making contact with Jason’s skin, is the hot liquid rush of heat up his arm that follows.

Tim cries out, he can’t help it. There is _colour_ swirling in rivers across his hand suddenly, running up through his veins and stabbing into his heart. So bright and vivid, shades of yellow like buttercups and daffodils, while over Jason’s body there is red, like the varied petals of roses and chrysanthemums. The colours dance across both of them, meeting, intermingling; it almost hurts, the feeling caught somewhere between agony and euphoria, and by the time those dancing patterns have settled into matching bracelets around their wrists, Tim is bent over double across the bed again, sweating as the ramifications of what just happened stumble through his mind.

 _Soulmark._ He has a soulmark. With _Jason_. He—

That’s when the door bursts open.

Tim looks up sharply, his eyes widening with the fear that is now lacing up his spine as they meet Bruce Wayne’s dark circled ones. He realises that his hand is still clutched around Jason’s, and at once he yanks it away. But the guilty motion comes too late, far too late as his other hero stares at the newly made red and yellow marks encircling his son’s wrists.

Looming in the doorway, Batman now for all that he’s wearing a business suit, Bruce is a terrifying force for one stunned thirteen-year old boy to face.

“Who are you?” He demands, deep voice whip cracking across the formerly silent room, “What have you done?!”

*

Tim tries not to squirm as Alfred Pennyworth holds one of his hands between both of his, turning it this way and that as he examines the marks across his skin next to Jason’s.

No two soulmarks are ever the same. That is an accepted truth in their world, and while in some cases some may look similar to others (to the point where a cursory glance could have them be mistaken as matching to another pair), if you peered close against the skin you would always see the discrepancies, however tiny they were, and know they could only belong to one another.

Which means that no matter how many times Bruce Wayne, and now Alfred Pennyworth, examine Tim’s wrists next to Jason’s, there’s not a single contrast to be found between them.

The red interlocks with the yellow in hard, sweeping lines. Sharp turns and precise corners; angles that Tim’s analytical mind can’t help but find mathematically pleasing. They remind him of a circuit board, or ley lines etched out in miniature over his skin. The yellow on the other hand is made up of graceful sweeps and curves, the peculiarities of its pattern seemingly without rhyme or reason - yet it fits in with the red perfectly, and the result is breathtaking to look at. At least to him.

“A perfect match, there’s no doubt about it.” Alfred is beyond gentle as he releases Tim’s arm, but there’s something sad in his eyes too as he withdraws again to stand at Bruce’s side.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess why.

(And though Tim doesn’t know it yet, he’ll get used to seeing such looks thrown in his direction soon. Pity in the eyes of strangers, and whispers spoken just within earshot of _Such a shame, and so young too_.)

Mr. Wayne doesn’t look so sympathetic. He looks tired, hurt and angry, too many emotions for Tim to name sharing space over the downturned edges of his mouth and the broken line of his brow. His grief is palpable; his guilt worse.

“Tell me again.” He orders, staring at Tim so forcefully that he can’t help but look away.

In fits and starts, with only Alfred’s encouraging looks for comfort, Tim stammers out again the story of how he came to be here. A second confession soon follows, because there’s no way he can lie to Batman’s face about how he’s had them all figured out for years - not when there’s no other feasible explanation for why he’d come to visit Jason is his hospital bed in the first place. He certainly can’t say he was his friend and expect to be believed about it; not when his family live right next door to Wayne Manor.

“I didn’t know it would happen.” He finishes lamely, shifting his feet in their sneakers so they squeak against the floor. “I swear I didn’t.”

“Of course not.” Alfred’s cultured tones soothe him, “You are evidently a very smart young man, Timothy, but even for the most intelligent of us,” and this is said pointedly, “the matters of the soul remain an eternal mystery.”

Tim bows his head, not knowing how to respond to that. His eyes keep darting to Jason’s still face and the dark sweep of his eyelashes like bruises against his pale cheeks.

If this was a book, or a movie like the ones Mrs. Mac sometimes lets him watch with her on the big screen in their house on the weekends where his parents aren’t home, the touch of a soulmate would have been the power that woke Jason up. Their eyes would have met, there would have been a soft _Who are you?_ spoken from the bed, and then Tim supposes that (if they were following the script completely) they would have kissed, even if he’s not sure he’s ready for the idea of kissing yet full stop.

He discovered early on though, through the corridors of an empty house, that reality very rarely matched up with fantasy.

“Too smart.” Bruce sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose tiredly.

“I won’t tell anyone.” Tim says quickly, “I’ve known for four years and I haven’t told anyone. I won’t do it now.”

Bruce’s gaze is as impenetrable as a brick wall. Tim can’t imagine how he’s feeling, with a son in a coma and now this.

“No, I suspect you won’t.”

Tim squirms in his seat again. “I…”

“It’s getting late. I think you should go home now. Alfred can drive you.” Bruce talks over him. “Though you’re going to need an explanation for your parents about what you were doing here, and how you got those marks.”

It’s hard not to let the disappoint eat through the lining of his stomach. “I’ll just tell them I know Jason from school the next time they’re home. They’re not around enough to know any different.”

Two pairs of eyes look sharply at him when he says that. The concern is surprising, the relief that his soulmark will be explained away so easily less so.

“The next time they’re home?” Bruce asks softly.

Tim shrugs. “They travel a lot. Mostly it’s just me and our housekeeper, Mrs. Mac. She won’t know any better either.”

“I see.”

He doesn’t sound happy about it. But then, happiness seemed to have left Bruce Wayne’s airspace two weeks ago, alongside Jason Todd’s health.

Tim stands reluctantly as Alfred ushers him to his feet, holding his bag and phone tightly to his chest before looking at Jason and biting his lip. “Can I come back and visit him again?”

“You’re his soulmate.” Bruce says neutrally as he moves to sit by Jason’s side and engulf one small hand between both of his own. There’s something almost ominous about the way they swallow up Jason’s soulmark from sight to Tim. “I doubt I could stop you if I tried.”

It’s permission enough, and Tim nods, swallowing hard as he lets Alfred steer him gently towards the door. “Mr. Wayne? I… could I ask…”

Bruce looks back at him guardedly.

“How did it happen? How did it really happen? It wasn’t actually a terrorist bombing, was it? What—”

He looks away, and this time Alfred’s grip on Tim’s shoulder is firmer as he guides him onwards towards the door.

“It’s time for you to go home now, young sir.”

*

It’s raining when they get outside. Tim watches the water run down the windows in miniature rivers as he sits in the backseat of Bruce Wayne’s big black car, angling his toes down towards the carpeted floor while twisting his hands together in his lap over and over again, stroking the newly painted lines around his wrists.

His mind is reeling still, caught up in replays of the moment. The burst of colour, the heat in his chest. Bruce Wayne’s face when he realised what had happened.

That he’s found his soulmate at the age of thirteen is incredible. That his soulmate is Jason Todd, is _Robin_ , even moreso. That his soulmate is...

“He doesn’t like me, does he?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Wayne. I don’t think he likes me.”

“I wouldn’t say that, young sir. Master Bruce simply has a lot on his mind now, as I’m sure you can well imagine.”

“It’s okay. I mean, I won’t blame him if he doesn’t.”

Alfred clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “This has been a shock for all of us. You included. You must give both him and yourself some time to adjust to the idea.”

“I guess...”

Tim looks at the window again. The slide of raindrops down the glass. He’s glad he got offered a ride home today, so that he’s not getting soaked while standing outside waiting for the bus.

“... Mr. Pennyworth?”

“Yes?”

“Could you… I know Mr. Wayne didn’t want to, but could _you_ please tell me what really happened to Jason? I need to know. Please. I promise I won’t ask anymore questions after that. Just…”

He can only see the back of Alfred’s head as he drives. It’s quiet inside the car for a moment, but then the angle of his chauffeur's cap changes as he bows his head. He sounds tired, so very tired when he asks, “Are you sure? I suppose you do have a right to know now, but it’s a rather distressing story. And you are so…”

_So young._

“I understand, but I’d still like to hear it. Please.”

*

Later, Tim walks through the door of his house with the name _Joker_ ringing in his ears, a colourful weight at his wrists, and a deep newfound loathing in his soul.

He has a soulmate. A soulmate who may never wake up again. Who may never even know he exists if that’s so, all because of a madman who has terrorised Gotham for longer than Tim can remember.

Mrs.Mac isn’t around when he gets home. She never is in the evenings, though she does leave the light on in the front hall for him. After locking the door, Tim goes straight upstairs, not hungry, to take a shower and scrub at his wrists just in case. But the colour lingers, bright and persistent as the moment it first formed. It hits him again that this is his fate now. He’s bound to Jason Todd, and while once that might have been a breathtaking revelation, now...

Now he has no idea what to do with that information.

“He could wake up, still.” Tim whispers to himself after he’s climbed into bed, lights out and the covers pulled over his head as he traces the patterns across his wrists by memory. “He could.. no. He _will_ wake up. He will, he will.”

He will because he’s Jason. Because he’s Robin, and that’s how Tim knows him. Full of life and determination, the cocksure grin on his face meant as a challenge to the entire world to come and face him. And maybe he never knew Jason personally the way he wanted to, but he does know that he never gave up.

Jason never gave up, and so neither will he.

*

Tim goes back to the hospital. The very next day in fact, still sneaking into Jason’s room out of habit even though he now has full permission to be there. He sits and watches his still face for hours as he slowly gets more and more used to the idea that this could be his future now; a white hospital room and Jason, laid out in the bed like Snow White in her glass coffin.

When Mrs. Mac had seen his wrists that morning, she’d made a _sound_. A delighted happy noise before rushing over to take his hands in hers. There’d been a flurry of questions, almost too many for him to keep up with. Who? When? Where? And after he told her the answers, stuttering shyly, only silence, until pity swallowed up the joy as if it had never been.

“Oh Tim.” She’d sighed, as if he’d already been consigned to wearing black and pacing a widow’s walk in her mind. “That poor boy, I’m so sorry. I’ll have to let your parents know.”

Ears already ringing with her words, Tim hadn’t stuck around to listen to the phone call.

Now, thinking about that moment again, he can’t help but clench his hands into fists. It’s not fair, he thinks, that she could give up on Jason so easily, no matter what the tabloids said. Newspapers fed on tragedy, on gloom and doom, far more than they did happy endings. In fact, they probably _wanted_ Jason to die, knowing that they’d sell more headlines that way. It makes Tim feel sick to think about it.

“I know you’re going to wake up.” He says to Jason, the first words he’s ventured to him all afternoon. “No matter what Mrs. Mac or anybody else says. I know it.”

The plastic feet of the visitor’s chair scrape against the floor as he inches it closer to the bed. Tim’s arms are nowhere near as long as Bruce Wayne’s are, so he has further to reach from this position before he can take Jason’s hand in his own.

His hands are dry and bony, with prominent knuckles Tim guesses are the result of a lifetime of punching people. There are thick callouses on his palms, and a scar across his wrist now painted over in those vivid shades of red and yellow that have been burned permanently into Tim’s irises.

Somewhere, Tim thinks he read that talking to coma patients is supposed to help them wake up, but try as he might, despite the many different scenarios he’d imagined for when he would meet Jason, he suddenly can’t think of another word to say.

There’s only regret. Regret that he never worked up the courage to go and say hi to him before this happened. Regret that he never gave thought to the possibility that they could be soulmates; that his fascination with Jason might have had more behind it than simple admiration for his heroics.

He wonders if it would have made a difference if he had. If knowing he had a soulmate here in Gotham would have kept Jason from leaving home to seek out the mother he’d never known in Ethiopia. If…

There are a lot of ifs, dancing like fireflies at dusk; embers that died before Tim could ever reach them and taunting him with the possibilities of what could have been if only he was a little braver.

Tim wonders if this is how Batman feels everytime he looks at Jason now. Hindsight is a terribly cruel thing.

“I don’t know what you’ll think of me.” is what he murmurs finally. “I’m probably not going to be anything like what you imagined your soulmate would be, but that’s all right. I don’t mind if I’m not. I don’t even mind if you don’t like me.” It happened sometimes. Despite popular belief, a soulmate wasn’t always the person you fell in love with, or even necessarily liked. His mom is a good example of that. “I just want you to wake up, okay? Wake up, Jason. Please.”

The monitor keeps beeping steadily, and Jason stays sleeping. Not even a twitch of his fingers to show that he’s heard a word Tim said.

He chews his lip.

“Okay, we’ll call it a work in progress.”

*

Tim goes back to the hospital again the next day, and the day after that. As well as all the days following that he possibly can. The only other obligation he has in his life right now is to school, and since the truth has come out, he’s not going out chasing Batman at night anymore either. That means he has plenty of time to spare. Too much of it, in fact.

Alfred is quick to notice his dedication. It’s hard for him not to, when he and Bruce come to see Jason so often themselves that they can’t help but cross paths with Tim on many of those occasions despite his best attempts not to get in their way. Usually gathering his things to leave as soon as Bruce arrives.

It becomes something of a habit that on those evenings (afternoons if it’s the weekend) Alfred will give Tim a lift home while Bruce supplants his place at Jason’s side; driving him through the city streets back to Bristol and offering carefully measured small talk as a distraction from the small ache in his chest that makes itself known after every visit.

Talk about Tim. About his parents. About his schooling and Mrs. Mac and if he has any friends, any hobbies other than photography. He’s fishing for information, Tim realises, but since none of it is harmful he doesn’t mind answering his questions honestly, and in fact he uses the opportunity to make inquiries of his own, prodding around the edges of subjects that are otherwise too harmful to address openly.

Batman, and what’s going on in the city, sometimes. But mostly about Jason. Who he is, and what he’s like outside of the Robin uniform.

“Perhaps you might start coming with me to the hospital from now on, when Master Bruce is otherwise busy.” Alfred suggests two weeks later during one of these drives, when the routine has become something safe and settled. Tim translates it to mean, _When he’s being Batman,_ and nods accordingly. “It would be easier for you than taking the bus.”

“That would be nice, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.”

“Alfred.” he’s corrected, with a certain degree of warmth. Closer to the equator than away from it. “Call me Alfred, young sir.”

“Alfred.” Tim repeats dutifully.

It feels good.

“And if you would like to, perhaps you could also start visiting Wayne Manor from time to time. It must be rather dull for you to spend so much time alone in that big house of yours.”

“I don’t mind, I’m used to it.” Tim says automatically, though internally he’s itching with the desire to say yes. To go inside the manor and see the things Jason has seen, to touch the things he has touched; to see his room and know just that little bit more about him - it’s a childhood dream now warped by a far more adult need. “Won’t Mr. Wayne mind?”

“If you should come to pay a personal visit to his butler in your own time, I hardly see why he should raise a complaint.”

If he hadn’t done so already, this would be the moment Tim decided that he likes Alfred Pennyworth very much.

“I’ll think about it then, thank you.”

At home, the lights are on. All of them on the ground floor, not just the one in the front hall. Tim tenses in the back seat of the car when he sees it, because he know what that means, and the knowledge is something he’s both longed for and dreaded.

His parents are home.

He can feel Alfred’s concerned gaze on his back as he picks up his backpack and exits the car with a hasty farewell, resisting the urge to tug his sleeves down over his wrists as he does so. There’s no point in trying to hide the marks now, not when Mrs. Mac has already told his parents the news, but he has no idea how they're going to react to seeing them in person. Despite being informed the day after it happened, his mom and dad still hadn’t cut short their trip to come home and see him. Until now, that is.

Tim had expected that. Had even been grateful for it at the time, since it gave him the space to adjust without having to deal with them hovering over his shoulder. He just wishes he’d also used the time to think about what he was going to say to them now that they’re back.

Are they going to be happy? Disappointed? Are they going to pity him like everyone else except Alfred and Mr. Wayne seemed to?

Tim stands outside on the porch as he considers it, but he can’t linger for very long. Not with Alfred still watching him from the car, waiting to see that he makes it safely inside the house before pulling away.

Taking a deep breath, Tim steels his nerves, then turns the door handle and steps inside the house, making sure to shut the door firmly behind him so that the sound of it echoes down the hallway.

“Mom? Dad?” He calls, hugging the strap of his backpack as he walks deeper into the house.

“In here, Tim!”

The answering shout comes from the main living room. Tim doesn’t let himself drag his feet as he follows the sound of it.

Inside, Jack and Janet Drake are sitting together on the biggest couch. A huge brown leather monstrosity that fills an entire corner of the sizeable living room. He tries to analyse their expressions; his dad is smiling, his mother too. But underneath those smiles there’s something else, something guarded. “Hey. I, uh, didn’t… I didn’t know you were going to be back today.”

Standing up from the couch, his dad comes over and wraps his arm around his shoulders before pulling him down to sit with them. “Well. we thought we’d surprise you. Looks like it worked. How you doing, champ, busy day?”

“Not really. How was Bermuda?”

“Pretty good. We didn’t get lost in any triangles, anyway. I’ve got some photos to show you, and a couple souvenirs I think you’ll like too.” His dad winks at him, and despite his nerves Tim can’t help warming a little to his presence. He and his parents aren’t close, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t yearn for their attention when they are here.

It’s almost enough for him to be able to ignore the way his mother’s eyes shot to his wrists the minute he sat down.

“Where have you been?” She asks, her first words to him. “We were expecting you to be home when we got here. School ended hours ago.”

His dad frowns, but doesn’t say anything.

Tim weighs the pros and cons of being honest, before deciding to hell with it. “At the hospital.”

“Visiting the Wayne boy?”

“Janet, we discussed this. Let’s at least wait until—”

“It’s okay, Dad.” Tim keeps his head held high under their attention. “I knew you guys would want to ask me about him. You can do it now if you want.”

One by one, he turns up the edges of his sleeves, rolling them up until the entirety of his forearms are laid bare. The marks are still as bright as the day they were made, sunny daffodil yellow and deep rose red. His dad breathes in sharply when he sees them.

“Well, I... would you look at that. And only thirteen too. It must have been a big surprise for you, huh, Tim?”

Jack’s own wrists are bare, devoid of any colour. They certainly don’t match the purple-black marks on his mother’s arms that she always keeps covered with bracelets and other jewellery. Tim can feel her eyes burning into his skin with every passing moment. Whatever they want to say to him now, she’s clearly the driving force behind it.

“It was. A really big surprise.” He answers quietly.

His dad nods. “And how is he? Have there been any changes. We heard the news reports even in Bermuda, and Mrs. Mac—”

“The papers are lying!” Tim says, more sharply than he means to. “They don’t know anything.”

“Then he’s going to wake up soon?” His mom asks, “Is that what the doctors are saying?”

“I… Well, not exactly.” he admits, scratching his wrists. “They don’t really know when yet.”

It’s not a lie. They don’t know when. But Tim refuses to believe that they don’t know _if_. Officially, the odds they’d given for Jason’s chances of waking were fifty-fifty, and the longer he went without doing so the worse those odds would become. But he doesn’t want his parents to know that. He doesn’t want to see the same pitying looks in their eyes that he has in Mrs. Mac’s, and from some of the doctors and nurses at the hospital.

“Tim.” Janet puts her hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right. I know this must be hard on you, and we’ll support you whatever you decide, of course, but I want you to know that having a soulmate mark doesn’t mean you _have_ to limit yourself to that person. You can still have a fulfilling life away from them, just like I have with your father.”

In this moment, Tim feels like he’s made of glass. Fragile, and liable to crack at any moment. He very carefully doesn’t say anything, only clenches his hands tighter together in his lap.

“What your mother means is that we just want you to be careful. Not to get your hopes up too much.” Jack adds. “Going to visit Jason in the hospital is fine. But you need to be realistic too. You can’t neglect the rest of your life while you wait for him to wake up. You’re a bright boy, Tim. You’ve got great things ahead of you.”

 _What do you know about my life?_ he wants to snap, _You’re never home long enough to know a damn thing about me._

“I’m not.” Is what he actually says, watching his knuckles go white. “I know you’re worried about me, but I know what I’m doing, okay? Jason’s going to wake up. He just needs some more time, that’s all.”

“You can’t say that for certain. Tim, you need to—”

“I do know, okay! I know.” They look shocked at his outburst, and he quickly drops his head back down to stare at his lap. “He’s going to wake up.”

His mother radiates disapproval. His dad however simply sighs, “All right then, Tim. We’ll leave you to it for now. We just wanted to make sure you understood that having a soulmate doesn’t have to be a done deal.” He smiles, “Hey, do you want to go look at those pictures now?”

Tim shakes his head. “Actually, is it okay if I go up to my room for a bit instead? I’m uh, actually not feeling very well.”

Jack frowns, obviously seeing through the lie, but he doesn’t say no. “Sure, son. We’ll see you later for dinner, okay?”

“Sure. Thanks, Dad.”

Tim leaves the room, still squeezing his hands together to stop them from shaking, and pretends not to hear his mom hiss his dad’s name before the door’s even finished closing behind him.

*

“They basically said I should give up on you! Can you believe that?”” he rants to Jason in his hospital room the next day. “They think I shouldn’t come here to see you, but they don’t even know anything about you or what happened. They’re acting like… like… like you’re dead already! How could they do that? I don’t understand. They act like I’m ruining my life coming here every day and it hasn’t even been a month yet. You could still wake up, you’ve got loads of time to do that.”

Before he’d struggled to find much to talk to Jason about anything at all. Now, it’s like he can’t stop.

“And who are they to judge me, anyway? Just because Mom decided she didn’t want to be with _her_ soulmate doesn’t mean she can tell me that I shouldn’t try to see if we can make it work.” He fidgets, walking uneasily back and forth across the room. His voice drops lower, quieter. “They don’t even know me; they can’t understand what I want. In fact, I don’t even know why they care so much about it. It’s not like they take any notice of what I do the rest of the time. If they did, they wouldn’t be gone so much. They would stay home, or take me with them when they travel places, but they never do. I’m always left behind, like...”

He stops and sighs, looking at Jason. Now that they’ve taken out the stitches, his hair is finally starting to grow back in over the spot they’d kept shaving so his surgical scar would stay clean while it healed. The short bristles of those hairs look strange next to the longer curls covering the surrounding parts of his scalp.

“I’m sorry... I know I probably shouldn’t complain about my parents, especially not to you. And it’s not just them. Not really. It’s everyone. Everyone in this place looks at me like I’m this pathetic kid doomed to be alone, and I hate it. I hate them, and this room. I hate how plain it is. How boring.” He sighs, reaching to trace a finger over Jason’s soulmark while he talks. “You’ll probably hate it too when you wake up. Somehow I don’t think you’re an eggshell kind of guy.”

Tim chews his lip as he looks again at those colours. Red and yellow blooming in two contrasting patterns that somehow manage to come together as a whole.

Then he has an idea.

“I’ll be right back.” he tells Jason, before grabbing his bag and running back out of the room towards the nearest elevator.

Down in the hospital’s atrium, there are a variety of different stores, selling everything from clothing to wheelchairs, as well as a small cafe and coffee shop. But Tim bypasses them all as he heads straight to the most colourful place in the entire building: the florist’s.

It’s small, and most of the flowers inside its shabby walls are the kind you’d expect to find in a gas station catering to desperate husbands and boyfriends who’d forgotten their partner’s birthday or anniversary on the way home from work, but it still works well enough for Tim’s purposes. He has enough money on him to purchase a sizeable bouquet, and after a short period of browsing he eventually picks an unruly collection of sad looking red roses and yellow tulips, which the bemused looking store owner patiently binds together for him before he heads back upstairs.

In Jason’s room there’s a glass water jug; one put there purely for his visitors to partake of since Jason himself is fed through drips and tubes. Tim picks it up after laying the bouquet down on the bed next to him, taking the jug to the bathroom to change the water inside before bringing it back and adding in first the tiny packet of liquid plant food that came with the flowers, then the plants themselves.

Though drab and a little wilted, they’re an instant improvement on the dull setting of the room as he places the jug back down on the little cabinet beside Jason’s bed, brightening and adding colour to the walls as the sunlight from the window rebounds off their petals.

“There. Now you won’t be so bored when you wake up.” Tim tells Jason, dropping down to slouch back in the padded green chair beside his bed. “And I don’t care if you don’t like flowers either. Complain if you want, but they’re the best I can do for now, and if you want me to change them, then you better wake up and tell me.”

He squints at Jason’s face, searching for even a flicker of his eyelids in response, then sighs when there’s nothing.

“Okay then, we’re agreed. You like flowers.”

Ten minutes later, Tim has his DS in his hands, playing Mario Kart with the music cranked up so Jason can hear it too when there’s a sudden knock at the door.

He sighs at first, thinking it’s a doctor or nurse (since Bruce or Alfred wouldn’t knock before coming in), but then gets the shock of his life when the door opens to reveal that on this occasion the person disturbing his and Jason’s time together is neither.

“Hey.” Dick Grayson says, poking his head into the room. “I, uh. I’m not interrupting anything here, am I?”

For a split-second, Tim is three-years old all over again, staring up in awe at the boy acrobat holding him in his arms. He’s caught in admiring the bright costume, the happy smile, as both of them are blissfully unaware of the tragedy that’s to come when the spotlight shines on the trapeze later that evening, and he’s happy, so happy that he can feel his jaw hurting as he smiles back at him in turn.

Despite everything that followed after it, that memory is still one of the best of Tim has in his young life, and Dick Grayson still someone he’s more than a little in awe of.

Hurriedly, Tim shakes his head in a vain attempt to clear it, fighting through his surprise to respond in a way that he hopes doesn’t come off as completely fanboy-ish. “No! I mean, um… no. No, you’re not interrupting anything. You can, uh, come in if you want.”

Dick smiles as he walks the rest of the way into the room, letting the door fall quietly shut behind him. “Hi. I’m Dick. Dick Grayson, and you must be—”

“Tim Drake!” Tim blurts out, sitting up straight in his chair before blushing. “But, uh… you probably already knew that.”

So much for not acting like a fanboy.

He’s embarrassed, but Dick doesn’t seem to mind his outburst. “I might have heard some whispers about you.” he chuckles good-naturedly. “All good things, though. Don’t worry.”

He’s dressed down, out of uniform of course, and Tim tries not to stare when he notices there’s a new bruise forming along the handsome line of his jaw.

“I wasn’t worried.” he says carefully, measuring the volume of his voice this time as he watches Dick move round to stand on the opposite side of Jason’s bed with his hands in his pockets. “Would you… would you like me to leave? I can, if you want.”

“Huh?” Dick is absorbed in looking down at Jason when he asks. His smile has faded, and his voice is noticeably thicker on answering. “Oh no, no way. I wouldn’t dream of it. You have more right to be here than I do.”

That Tim didn’t expect. His brow furrows in confusion, “But you’re… I’m just…”

“His soulmate, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Then there’s no way I could kick you out.” Dick assures him. His eyes track down to Jason’s wrist, ignoring the tube going into the vein in his hand on that side to examine the mark there. “Red and yellow, huh? Nice combination. I wonder whose is whose.”

Tim shrugs, fighting hard to keep the pleased blush from spreading further down his face. Dick is the first person since Alfred to appear genuinely enthused at their connection. “I have no idea.”

Actually, he does. He thinks the red is his. The geometric shapes call to him in a way the yellow doesn’t, but he also doesn’t want to presume and risk being wrong in front of someone he admires as much as Dick.

“Robin colours.” Dick says knowingly, with a quick wink in Tim’s direction.

He can feel himself turning redder. “So, um, are you two close?”

“No.” Dick answers, the answer short and unexpected. His voice turns softer as he looks back down at Jason’s face again. “Not really.”

Tim feels like he may have just trodden on a landmine. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You couldn’t know.” Dick perches himself on the edge of the bed, and while Tim can’t see it from where he’s sitting, he guesses that he’s holding Jason’s hand. “And trust me, it’s not because I don’t like him, or him me. Jason’s a good kid. It’s just that… well, I guess you must have noticed I haven’t been in Gotham much these last couple years?”

“You’ve been with the Titans.” Tim fills in.

Dick nods. “Bruce and I had a disagreement before he took Jason in. And another one after he made him Robin.” He sighs, “It made things... hard, between us. Harder than they should have been. And I…” He swallows. “... God, I should have been here. For him. I should’ve... And Bruce…”

His eyes darken, ripening to the indigo of a brewing storm.

“... he didn’t even tell me this happened. I had to find out from the cave’s records. Jason’s in a coma, that monster almost _killed_ him, and he…”

He bows his head. Tim now thinks he understands where that bruise on Dick’s jaw came from.

“I’m sorry.” he says again, helplessly.

Dick heaves in one breath, then another until he’s somewhat calm again. His shoulders slump as he shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offloaded on you like that. It’s mine and Bruce’s problem to deal with, not yours. You’re just an innocent bystander in all this.”

“Well… I wouldn’t say totally innocent.” Tim replies, risking a smile.

To his delight, Dick looks up and laughs. “Right you are. You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing some of those photos you took of me if you’re ever up for it. Been awhile since I thought of myself in short pants.”

Tim thinks there’s nothing in the world he could do right now that would make him happier. “Sure. Are you staying in Gotham long? I could bring them here tomorrow, if you like?”

Dick gives him another measuring look, but not in the same way Bruce did when they first met. This one feels more approving. “A few days, just so I can… you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Dick smiles at him again, then abruptly changes the subject. “So, was it you who brought the flowers?”

Tim nods. “It’s so boring in here. It was driving me crazy. I figured Jason would probably hate it too. You know, when he wakes up.”

“Oh yeah, he’ll totally loathe it.” Dick chuckles, brushing back the hair from his face and tucking it behind his ears. “Jason’s a lot of things, but boring isn't one of them. Decorating his room is actually a pretty good idea.”

“Thanks.” Tim says, relaxing back into his chair. After spending just a few minutes in Dick Grayson’s company, he feels more at ease now than he has in weeks. “So hey, uh, I was wondering, I know you said you didn’t know Jason very well but… could you tell me what you do know about him? We never actually got to meet before he got hurt. And I’d kind of… Alfred’s told me some stuff, but I…”

“You’d like to know everything you can?”

“Right.”

Dick thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “All right. Tell you what, how about we go grab something to eat together downstairs and I’ll fill you in on all my Jason stories? Or if hospital food isn’t your thing, we can go out and hit a real diner. My treat, seeing as how you're my little brother’s soulmate and all.”

“No, it’s fine. The cafe’s fine.” The last thing Tim wants to be to him is a bother.

“Okay then.” Dick doesn’t protest his choice, but he doesn’t immediately get up from the bed either. Instead he chews his lip before making a request, “Hey Tim, if you don’t mind, could I have a minute alone with Jason before we go?”

It doesn’t occur to him to refuse, not knowing who Dick is. Both here now, and in the past. Tim just nods and picks up his backpack, “No, of course not, take all the time you need.”

“Thanks.” The tension in Dick’s shoulders seems to ease further as Tim grants his request and heads for the door, but - just before he leaves the room - he can’t resist sneaking a final glance back over his shoulder at the bed.

In the brief seconds since he started walking away, Dick has moved further up towards the head of the bed, and now has his hand pressed against the side of Jason’s face as he bends down to whisper into his younger brother’s ear.

The words are too low to make out, especially from this distance, but despite knowing it’s none of his business, a part of Tim still can’t help but wonder what it is that’s being said.

*

For the next three days, lunch with Dick becomes a habit Tim could have once only dreamed of, if only the circumstances under which it’s come to be weren’t so grim.

Dick is charming and funny, and just like he did when he was only nine years old, he has a way of making Tim feel instantly comfortable in his presence. So much so that by the second day, Tim finds himself starting to open up and talk to him in ways he doesn’t remember being able to speak to anyone before.

Some of it is about his home and his parents, as Dick politely tries to get to know him better, but mostly their conversations stay focused on Jason and what experiences Dick had with him.

It’s with avid interest that Tim listens to the story of how the two of them first met, during the middle of a test Bruce had set up for his second Robin called the Gauntlet - incidentally only a few days after Dick had finally finished picking out the Nightwing mantle for himself - to see if he was ready yet to start fighting alongside him on the streets. And about how, despite a rocky start, the two of them had been able to work together to save Alfred after what was supposed to be a fake training exercise had turned into a very real mission filled with deadly peril for the butler.

He learns that even though Jason was only twelve the first time he put on the Robin suit, he already knew how to hotwire and drive a car, and about how, even though he did his best to appear brash and cocky to everyone around him, underneath that attitude there was a good kid who only wanted to please and prove himself good enough to deserve the opportunity he’d been given.

(“That was one thing I never doubted after that first night.” Dick says then, with a wistful sigh. “He was a good kid. A little rough around the edges, but good. Better than I think anyone ever gave him credit for. Even Bruce.”)

He hears about Jason’s stay with the Teen Titans. Just for the one weekend, and how shy he could be next to the older heroes when he didn’t feel like he had to put on a show. And Dick makes Tim laugh as he describes how Jason had been so obviously in awe of Wonder Girl out of all of them, trailing after her like a lost puppy the entire time he was there.

They’re stories that make Tim laugh and smile, and he only wishes he could have been there to experience them with him, or be hearing them told from Jason’s own mouth.

“It doesn’t seem right,” Tim mutters on the last day before Dick leaves town for New York again, picking at the remains of the cheese and tomato sandwich he’d bought for lunch. “When he wakes up, I’m already going to know so much about him, but he won’t know anything about me. He’ll probably think I’m a giant creep for it.”

Dick leans back in his chair. He’s wearing a shorter sleeved shirt today, and no jacket. Because of that, Tim can see the lines of all three of his soulmarks (three, he has _three_ ) winding their way up his forearms as he folds them across his chest, drawing stares from every corner of the cafeteria in the process. He wagers one - probably the neon orange with starry comet trails dancing among Dick’s common lightning thread of cobalt blue - has to belong to his current girlfriend, Starfire, but he hasn’t worked up the courage to ask about the other two yet.

“That’s true. Jay’ll probably flip his lid about it.” Dick grins at the thought. Tim likes that about him too: he also doesn’t treat Jason like a lost cause. “In a good way I mean.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Dick takes a sip of his soda. “I’ve only known you a couple days, Tim, but you’re a good kid. Anyone can see that, and I’m sure Jason will too. And hey, I’ve actually got an idea about how you can solve that problem. It’s a little old fashioned, but why don’t you try writing to him?” “Writing to him?”

“Yeah,” He leans forward across the table, gesturing towards Tim, “Like, you’re here all the time. Getting to know him, talking to him. How about instead of just saying it you write those words down as well? Tell him about yourself. Then, when he wakes up, you can give those letters to him. Help him get a headstart on getting to know you too.”

Tim weighs the idea in his mind. “You really think that would work?”

Dick nods encouragingly at him. “It couldn’t hurt.”

He guesses that’s a good enough endorsement.

“Okay then. I’ll try it.”

“Great.” Dick pulls out a napkin from the dispenser on the table, before taking a pen from his pocket. Tim watches as he scribbles something down on the paper before passing it over to him. “Here. I gave this to Jay once in case he needed it. You should have it too.”

Tim doesn’t know what to expect, but he takes the napkin and then finds himself staring down at the numbers on it. “Is… is this your phone number?”

“Yep. If you ever need anything, or if you just need to talk, give me a call. I promise so long as nothing world-ending is happening, I’ll be there to listen.”

“Wow… I…” Tim looks back up at him, and finds nothing but sincerity staring back at him in Dick’s dark-blue gaze. He tucks the number into his shirt pocket like it’s made of gold dust. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Tim. Anytime.”

After they’ve finished eating (or after Dick finishes eating more accurately, as Tim doesn’t have much of an appetite for his sandwich) they go back up to the hospital room together.

Jason’s flowers are now sitting in a proper vase, one Alfred brought from the manor after he tutted disapprovingly at seeing them placed in the water jug and immediately took charge of the whole affair. Tim watches from the door as Dick speaks quietly to Jason again, squeezing his hand before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back to visit you again real soon, little wing. I promise.”

Once he’s left, hugging Tim tightly in a move that takes his breath away on the way out, Tim steps back to take his now customary place at Jason’s side. He props his chin up in his hands as he watches his soulmate considerately, the idea Dick gave him running back and forth through his mind.

Letters, he thinks. Okay, he can do this.

*

Time seems to pass more quickly after that, in flowers and paper.

At first, the writing is hard. Tim struggles to know what to say with a pen just as much as he does out loud. The words he puts to paper at the beginning are cut and dry: facts without emotion. He explains who he is, how he knew Jason before. How old he is, and what things he likes. Afterwards, each letter is carefully dated, then sealed away in an envelope. Tim gets a lock box to keep them in beside Jason’s bed, much the same as he does his photos of Batman and Robin at home.

Over time though, it does start to get easier.

He tells him stories. Recaps, week by week, about what’s going in the city, and what’s going on with all the people Jason cares about: Bruce and Alfred, mostly. He tells him about Batman’s worrying streak of brutality towards the criminal element since he’d been hurt, that was only now starting to let up.

_He misses you. He’s guilty, he thinks that what happened is all his fault._

But then, after a while, the process starts to become cathartic, as Tim starts to pour his own feelings and frustrations onto the page, talking to Jason like he’s a conscious and willing participant in their conversations rather than a silent observer.

_My parents left again today. They won’t be back for at least another three months. My mom still thinks I shouldn’t visit you, and that I’m just setting myself up to get hurt if I do. My dad’s the same way, though he doesn’t say it out loud like she does. I just wish they’d understand, but they never do. They never listen to me. I think if they did, they’d stay. I think they’d…_

He scribbles out the first sentence he writes after that.

_Do you think it’s okay to sometimes feel like you hate your own family?_

It doesn’t seem fair to say such a thing when he thinks about what happened with Jason’s own parents. Biological or otherwise.

The flowers by comparison are much easier, and with Alfred’s assistance Jason’s bouquets steadily start to become grander and more varied with every passing week. Red and yellow is the common theme: roses, carnations, and marigolds, combined with tulips, sunflowers, and daffodils. And as it becomes summer, many of those blossoms come directly from the gardens of Wayne Manor, rather than any of the city’s florists.

“His favourite colour is green, you know.” Bruce says to Tim quietly one day when he’s on his way out the door. The words catch him completely off-guard, as up until this point they’ve rarely talked. So often just two ships passing each other by in the night.

“It is?”

“Mmhm.” Bruce reaches to smooth back Jason’s hair, letting his hand linger over the one particularly stubborn curl that had grown back in white over his forehead after the surgical scar across his scalp healed, much to the surprise of them all. “Somehow, I don’t think he’d object to red and yellow, though.”

“Robin colours.” Tim ventures carefully. Pointing it out to Bruce the same way Dick did to him when they first met.

It’s quiet, but then the corner of Bruce’s mouth tilts up into a hint of a smile. “Exactly.”

“He’s going to wake up, you know.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Tim doesn’t hesitate to nod at the question. “With all my heart.”

“Good.” This time Bruce’s approval, something he thought he might never get, is obvious. “So do I.”

Tim fidgets. He’s undoubtedly pleased by Bruce’s response, but still not sure if he’s supposed to be leaving or not. When Bruce is with Jason, Tim always feels like an intruder. An invader on a sacred bond he can’t hope to imitate. But then, just as he’s getting ready to finish stepping out of the door, Bruce speaks up again.

“Tim.”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne?”

“I…” he looks deeply serious for a moment, and very tired as he turns his face away from Jason to look at him. “I want to apologise for how I’ve treated you these past months. I admit I was suspicious of you at first, considering your knowledge of who we are and what we do, and since Jason was hurt things have been… hard. But that’s no excuse for my behaviour towards you. You’ve done nothing wrong, and in fact, you’ve been here for Jason when even Alfred and I couldn’t.” His hand tightens around Jason’s lax fingers. “I want you to know that I’m grateful for that.”

The small speech leaves Tim… well, speechless. He’s stumped, lost on how to respond to the weight of sincerity that’s being offered his way. He’d become so used to Bruce’s silences that to be acknowledged now, to be addressed directly and apologised to, is strangely surreal. Like something he’s imagined instead of reality.

“It’s okay.” he manages to stammer out eventually. “I understand if you were mad that I didn’t tell you what I knew before. Or that I was following you and Jason all that time.”

“I wasn’t mad at you. Surprised, definitely. Even a little impressed, but not mad.”

Tim nods his head jerkily, like he’s a puppet on a string. It’s a compliment, he thinks, and he knows even less what to do with one of those than an apology.

They stare at each other for a few more moments, and finally Bruce seems to understand. This time his smile is a kind one. “You don’t have to leave just because I’m here, Tim. Not anymore.”

“Okay.”

Step by careful step, Tim walks back towards the bed. He stands on the opposite side from Bruce, closer to the heart monitor that continues to count all the continued seconds of Jason’s life. Each beep is gratification, consolation. Proof that hope is not lost after all.

“So…” he says, when it becomes clear that Bruce isn’t going to start any further conversation himself. “What else does Jason like? Besides the colour green, I mean.”

Bruce’s smile lingers as he looks down at the gently sleeping face of his adopted son.

“Take a seat and I’ll tell you.”

*

_I think Bruce likes me now. Or at least I think he tolerates me. He actually talked to me today and even told me some more things about you. Like your favourite color and flavor of ice-cream. When you wake up, I’ll promise I’ll get you the biggest bowl of neapolitan you’ve ever seen, okay? Maybe it’ll be easier then for you to talk to me then. Like an ice-breaker, get it?_

_I know, that’s not very funny._

_He said I could visit Wayne Manor too, like Alfred did. I guess that means I really have to go now. I promise I won’t snoop in your room, though. Not until you can tell me it’s okay to._

_It’s going to be your 16th birthday soon. I hope you’ll be awake by then._

*

He isn’t. Jason sleeps through his sixteenth birthday the same as he has every day for the last four months.

It’s a somber affair, with cards carefully set on every available surface in his room and a cake made for tradition’s sake that no one really has the stomach to eat. Tim takes his time in reading each dedication aloud to his sleeping soulmate; every card is signed by unfamiliar names written in unfamiliar hands, many of which he suspect belong to other superheroes. He takes care to make a note of every name in his next letter, just in case something happens to the cards themselves

Things do pick up a little when Dick walks through the door, bearing a sloppily-wrapped gift that is destined not to be opened, at least not today. A fact he seems unperturbed by, insisting that what’s inside will still be fine for whenever Jason _is_ ready to receive it, and though things are tense between him and Bruce as they stand together in the same room for the first time since their fight, they’re perhaps not as much bitter towards each other as they were before. No punches are thrown anyway, which judging by the relief on Alfred’s face must be progress.

After the gathering comes to its inevitably anticlimactic conclusion, Dick doesn’t hesitate to grab Tim by the arm and take him out for dinner so they can talk again.

Well actually, Tim talks. Dick’s a good listener, and he never interrupts, and he seems to sense that Tim needs these opportunities to get certain things off his chest. Speaking about all the things he can’t say to his family or his friends at school; some of them not even to Jason in his letters.

Then he lets Tim in on a secret.

“I’ve decided to move to Bludhaven. Do you know it?”

Tim nods. He knows it. Bludhaven is a city not far from Gotham, maybe forty minutes drive south down the coast. Historically it used to be a whaling town, back before the practice was banned, but these days it doesn’t have the greatest of reputations.

But then again, neither does Gotham.

“I’m ready to take a break from the Titans, and I thought it would be good to be closer to home.” Dick confesses. “To Jason, and Alfred. Bruce even, if he ever stops being a stubborn asshole about letting people help him.” He smiles despite the harshness of his words. “I figure that means you and I will be able to hang out more too. If you want to, I mean.”

Tim brightens instantly. “Yeah! Yeah, I’d like that. If you’re not too busy.”

“Trust me, Tim.” Dick smiles back at him, “For you I’ll find the time.”

*

_Dick’s finished moving into his new apartment in Bludhaven yesterday. It’s nice having him so close. He says it means he’ll be able to come visit every week, you and me both. I think he and Bruce are getting along okay now too, since he was at the manor the day before. He also said I should tell you that he’s got a new costume now, so you’ll have it on record for when he gave up on the ‘dumb disco suit’. I don’t think the old one looked that bad, personally, but the new one is better, that’s for sure. You’ll like it too when you see it._

_He introduced me to Barbara Gordon yesterday as well. She’s really cool and smart. And she told me about how you shot a bad guy’s hand with a harpoon gun when you two ran a mission together once. Is that true? It sounds like something you’d do, though I hope you’ll tell me about it yourself when you wake up._

*

_When you wake up…_

_*_

_~~Jason~~ _

_*_

The paper is wet with tears.

_My mom is dead. My dad, he’s in a coma now too, like you. They were in Haiti, and they got kidnapped by a bad guy who calls himself the Obeah Man. Batman went there to try and save them both but…_

_Bruce says I can stay with him until my dad’s better. I’m sorry I was ever mad at them. I wish I..._

_I wish you’d wake up. Both of you._

*

Living in Wayne Manor isn’t so bad. It’s less lonely than living at the Drake house, at least. More freeing, and easier for Tim to move to and from the hospital whenever he wants without anyone’s disapproval. Which quickly proves to be a blessing, as the media frenzy surrounding the Drake’s kidnapping finally clues the paparazzi into what Bruce had tried so hard to keep hidden from public knowledge since the day it happened: that Jason has a soulmate, and that his soulmate is Tim.

Suddenly Tim finds himself the tragic darling of Gotham, and learns to hate the press with all his heart. Pouring himself into both his schoolwork and looking after both Jason and his dad is the only escape he has from the deluge of articles featuring his name that now seem to spring up everywhere he goes, while dodging determined reporters proves to be an even bigger challenge than tracking Batman and Robin across rooftops was. But luckily for Tim - after being a regular visitor to the hospital for as long as he has - the staff have grown somewhat fond of him, and the nurses on duty during visiting hours are always kind enough to sneak him in and out through the side doors whenever they spot the paparazzi lurking at the main entrance.

He also, inadvertently - perhaps inevitably now that he’s living with them - falls into a nighttime habit of helping Bruce and Alfred with the Batman’s cases as well.

_I finally got to go down into the Bat Cave today. It’s the coolest place ever (but of course you already know that). I can’t believe they have a dinosaur down there, and all those giant playing cards! It’s almost more like a museum than a secret base._

Tim hesitates as he tries to think how to phrase the next part in a way that’s not too boastful.

_Bruce has been working on a Riddler case lately. Remember, I told you about it last week? He’s been leaving clues about where he’ll strike next, the same way he always does. The latest one was next to the big computer when I went down there. I saw it, and well, I asked Bruce why the Riddler would be going after a pet store, and he gave me this **look**. You know, the one where he seems kind of constipated? _

Tim considers revising that line, but then decides Jason will probably find it funny, so he leaves it in.

_Anyway, it turned out **he** hadn’t solved it himself yet, and I think he must have been impressed, because he said I can come down to the cave more often now if I want to. I’m mostly just helping Alfred do research and maintain the equipment. Nothing like what you can do, of course, but it’s still cool. Maybe this means I’ll even be able to help you when you’re Robin again._

The letter is rounded off with an account of how Bruce took the Riddler down this time, and Tim adds a carefully trimmed newspaper clipping onto the bottom of the last page before folding the letter up and sealing it into an envelope marked with the day’s date. He keeps the lockbox at home now that the press has found out about them. There’s too much risk of a reporter breaking into Jason’s room and finding it otherwise.

Being the almost-orphaned boy with a father and soulmate in a coma is bad enough. He doesn’t need to be the cause of Batman’s identity being exposed to the world as well.

*

_Jason, today is your 17th birthday._

*

Despite Tim’s worst expectations, Jack Drake wakes up from his coma after only a few months of unconsciousness. In comparison to Jason’s lengthy sleep, it seems barely any time has passed at all since he went under.

It’s not easy for the two of them afterwards, as his father has been left paraplegic as a result of the poison that was used on him, and there’s resentment and pain still boiling beneath Tim’s skin from the sense of abandonment that ruled his childhood. But things gradually do get better, and it’s with small reluctance that he moves out of Wayne Manor and back home with his father, where step by step, they start to mend their broken relationship.

Yet despite how grateful Tim is for the miracle of his dad’s recovery, he finds that he can’t help but be bitterly resentful that it can’t be the same way for Jason as well.

“It’s been two years, you know.” Tim whispers to him one day, out loud rather than on paper. “Two years, Jason. I want…” he stares down at their matching wrists, arms laid side by side on the bed. Yellow and red intertwined.

Robin colours, flower colours. Sunshine and blood.

“There’s this girl, you know. Stephanie. She’s Cluemaster’s daughter, but a hero. I told you about her before. She’s nice. Fun. She...” He grimaces, not sure what he’s trying to say. There’s a restlessness in his bones these days that he can’t shake. A weariness too, that’s getting harder to bear.

He’s fifteen now. Older, and taller, though not by a lot. The same goes for Jason, though he hasn’t grown nearly as much as the doctors say he should have after being laid up in a bed all day and night. The big difference between now and two years ago is that there’s sometimes dark stubble covering his angular jaw in the mornings, glimpsed briefly if Tim comes in early enough before the nurse on duty shaves it all away.

Maybe his mom had a point all along, saying that having a soulmate doesn’t have to be a binding contract. That he shouldn’t tie himself down to someone who doesn’t even know he exists, and may not ever know. It was easier to be hopeful when Jason’s unconsciousness was limited to a few weeks and months, without the example of someone waking up before him, but now it’s been two years. His chances of waking up shrink with every passing day, according to the word of every medical expert Bruce has ever paid to walk through his door.

And somewhere, the Joker is laughing.

“I think… I think I need a break.” Tim admits finally. “I’m not quitting on you. I just need some space to think. Dick says I can go and stay with him for a while in Bludhaven if I want to, and I might take him up on that offer. Dad’s been getting on real well with Dana anyway. He probably won’t miss me much while I’m gone.”

As always, he waits for Jason to respond, just in case, and like always, there’s nothing. Nothing but the steady rise and fall of his chest, drawing in and releasing air like clockwork.

Is he even in there at all? Or has Tim been pouring the last couple years of his life into an empty shell all this time? He hates himself for the thought, but just like the rest of the ugliness that’s been building up inside him these past months, he can’t help its appearance.

Maybe it’ll be better for Jason if he stops visiting for a few weeks too.

“Right,” he says heavily, feeling that weight run down from the pit of his stomach all the way to his toes. “Okay.”

Tim gives Jason’s hand one final squeeze before standing up. He brought a new bouquet of flowers today, perhaps already knowing that he might not be coming back to replace them again for a while. With a final touch, he adjusts them in the vase by the bed, before glancing over at the night sky outside the window.

No bat signal, the city must be quiet tonight.

Then he opens the door to the ward beyond Jason’s room to leave and instantly changes his mind about that fact.

“Timothy Drake, I presume?” The man outside is wearing a thick woollen balaclava over his face, and sounds positively smug over finding him as he points a gun at Tim’s chest.

Tim eyes flicker over his shoulder to what’s behind him: three other men, all with their faces concealed, and all carrying weapons of their own.

That alone is what convinces him not to try putting the self defence lessons Bruce and Dick had insisted they give him to the test.

Instead, Tim raises his hands up by his head, and carefully steps back into the room as they move forwards.

*

Unsurprisingly, the gang is after money. No costumed villains with strange demands or grandiose plans of world domination here, just your everyday thugs. Lured by greed and what they think is the promise of an easy score from two helpless rich boys and their desperate fathers.

The only mercy to be found in the situation is that they weren’t smart enough to grab any additional hostages. He and Jason are the valuable ones: heirs to two vast fortunes. An ordinary nurse or doctor, or even any other patient, wouldn’t be so lucky. They would be expendable, whereas Tim and Jason are very firmly not. Not if these idiots want to have any chance of getting what they came for.

Tim tries to stay calm as they search him, taking his phone and keys away, before directing him to sit down over by Jason’s bed. Two move to barricade and guard the doorway, while another stands sentry by the window. The leader is in the middle of the room, phone in hand as he makes ready to negotiate with the police force already amassing outside.

 _Idiots_ , he thinks again. A better tactic would have been just to grab him and take him to a hideout elsewhere in the city where the cops couldn’t find them, not try to go two for two with Jason as well.

“You do know what city you’re in, right?” He says, as calmly as he can manage. “Do you honestly think this plan of yours has any chance of working?”

“Shut up, kid. We know what we’re doing.” The leader snaps back at him, which only goes further to convince Tim that they don’t. He sounds young under the mask, which makes Tim think that maybe they’re desperate as well as stupid. It’s an unfortunately common combination amongst the criminal element in Gotham. A result of poor education opportunities and deprived circumstances. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just stay sitting quietly over there with Sleeping Beauty.”

“If you kill me, you’ll lose out on half your ransom money.”

“Way I figure it, Wayne’s got more than enough to make up for it if we have to cut you loose. So maybe, just maybe,” the barrel of the gun is waved closer to his face, almost under his nose. “You do as I say, and I won’t have to hurt you or your vegetable boyfriend here to get what we want.”

Tim glares back at him, but doesn’t argue any further. The Bat Signal is lighting up the sky now through the window, but it’s hardly necessary. Bruce is probably already outside, furious and ready to take these guys down. He almost lost Jason once before, there’s no way he’s going to let anyone get away with hurting him again. All Tim has to do is be patient, and maybe try to distract the gang long enough to give Batman the opening he’ll need to break in and take them out.

He takes hold of Jason’s hand for reassurance. Just for something to ground himself with while he tries to think the situation through. If that action makes these guys think he’s scared witless to boot, well, then that’s just an added benefit.

And he is scared. Of course he is. All his previous experience with fighting crime has been through a computer screen, at Alfred or Oracle’s side while they watched Bruce and Dick work. But he’s also angry, which helps combat the fear by a large margin.

He grabs onto that anger now, holding it against his chest like a security blanket. Focusing on the fact that he can’t let them hurt Jason. Not again. There’s been enough suffering in his life already, and now if it’s anyone’s turn, Tim will be the one to shoulder that burden. He has to, for Jason’s sake, and for the sake of all those who care about him.

In the centre of the room, the gang’s leader has successfully gotten himself patched through to the police. Gordon is on the ground out there, Tim realises, and that’s an extra comfort. He likes the Commissioner, who was maybe the only one who ever spotted him when he used to tail Batman and Robin back in the old days. He’ll be taking the extortionate demand for money in stride, and like Tim, he knows that the key here is to keep the guy talking; to give Batman the opening he’ll need to get inside and take them down.

An hour passes, during which his palm grows sweat-slick against Jason’s. The negotiations are going nowhere fast, and the leader has started to realise that he’s given himself very little breathing room by only holding Jason and Tim hostage rather than any more expendable captives.

“We could hurt them.” One of the others offers as a suggestion. “The corpse or the kid. Bust a bullet somewhere it won’t kill them and send a picture. We could do that.”

Tim grits his teeth, both at the threat and the way the guy talks about Jason. He’s here and he’s breathing, everyone can see that; his heartbeat clearly marked out by the monitor next to the bed.

One of the others has pulled his balaclava up over his nose and is rubbing furiously at it. The sound of his sniffling fills the room.

“And risk them bleeding out?” The leader glares. “No. And for fuck’s sake, Mikey, pull your mask back down.”

“Sorry, boss. It’s these flowers. I…” Mikey sneezes into the palm of his gloves. “I got allergies, you know. S’why I never go to the park.”

“Jesus Christ.” The fourth man groans, with the air of one long-suffering.

“They won’t bleed out if we shoot them in the foot. Or the knee. We could even just—”

“We’re not shooting either of them!” Leader snaps. “Not yet anyway. If it comes down to it, we’ll off Wayne’s kid, all right? Drake’s going to have to come with us so we can get out of here safely anyway.”

So they _do_ have a plan after all.

Tim grits his teeth, raising his head proudly. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Not if you do anything to Jason.”

Mikey sneezes again. “Aw shit, man, now my eyes are watering too. Anybody got a tissue?”

He’s ignored.

“You ain’t exactly got room to negotiate, kid.” Is spat at Tim. He doesn’t let himself lean back the way he wants to as the leader stalks over to him and presses the barrel of his gun against his forehead. He holds it sideways, the way thugs usually do when they want to look cool in front of their friends. “I can do anything I want to you and your soulmate here, and you couldn’t do a thing to stop me.”

“You just admitted you need me to get out of here.” Tim shoots back coolly, feeling the entire focus of the room shift to him. _Good._ “I’d say you can’t.”

“If you even for a moment think of trying anything, I’ll blow Todd’s empty head clean off his shoulders. The way that bomb should’ve at the start.”

For a moment, the world melts. Everything shifts out of focus, and Tim’s hand tightens around Jason’s until he can feel their bones grinding together.

“Take that back.”

“Aw, what’s the matter, princess? Did I hurt your feelings? Because God knows I didn’t hurt his.”

It’s getting hard to breathe, and not just because of the gun pointed his way. “I _said_.Take. It. Back.”

The guy laughs, brittle and cruel. “You got spunk for a skinny little twig, but nah, don’t think I will.”

Tim thinks he catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye at the window, but his world has narrowed down to a pinprick. Emphasis on prick. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I, rich boy? ‘cuz it looks pretty clear cut to me.” The gun jabs against his forehead. “Way I see it, if we kill him we’ll just be doing you a favour, letting you move on with your life. Otherwise at this rate, you’ll be lucky if he comes around again before you croak it of old age.”

Mikey, the guy with the allergies, and apparently the only one among the group with a heart, winces at the words, “Jeez, boss, don’t you think you’re being a little hard on the kid?” Meanwhile the pressure around Tim’s hand grows. He can feel it tensing around his fingers, the rapidfire beat of his pulse in his ears as his blood roars…

No, he realises suddenly. Not his pulse.

Tim’s eyes shoot to his right, across the bed at the heart rate monitor. It takes him a moment to process what he’s seeing. The growing spikes in the lines scrawled across the screen, and the change in the numbers.

The tightening of thin fingers around his own.

“Holy shit.” Someone, not Mikey or the leader, says.

When Tim looks at Jason’s face, he can see a sliver of blue looking back at him through the thick curls of his eyelashes.

“Jason?” he whispers.

Distracted by what he’s looking at, what they’re _all_ looking at, the leader drops his gun from Tim’s head to his thigh.

“No fucking—”

That’s when the window caves in.

Tim doesn’t think. He only acts on instinct, grabbing the blanket on the bed and hauling it over Jason’s head to protect him from the glass shards flying across the room. He ducks down over him as well for good measure, shielding his body with his own as batarangs whistle through the air. There’s a snarl like thunder as Batman goes to work.

Four amateur thugs against one pissed off vigilante don’t stand much of a chance. It’s over in seconds, and they don’t even get off a single shot before they’re all down. Still, Tim doesn’t dare move from off of Jason until he feels a heavy hand against his back and hears Bruce’s reassuring voice by his ear. “It’s okay, Tim. You’re safe. You can get up now, it’s over.”

“Batman.” he says shakily, looking up into that cowl-covered face. Measuring the downwards twist to Bruce’s mouth, the concerned clench of his grizzled jaw. “Batman, he…”

He swallows hard.

“He woke up.”

* 

The next ten minutes pass in a blur as Batman takes off and the police come in, along with a flood of doctors and nurses who check them both over for injuries, and Tim finds himself being almost ignored as he tries to tell them, over and over again, that Jason was awake, if only for a moment. But finally someone listens, and then there’s another flurry of activity around Jason’s bed right before Jack Drake rushes into the room and Tim finds himself wrapped up in one of the biggest hugs he’s ever experienced in his life. Certainly from his dad.

“I thought I was going to lose you, Tim.” He says against the top of his head, leaning on the crutches he still largely needs to help himself walk, even if he’s come on in leaps and bounds from where he was before. “I thought those bastards were going to—”

“It’s okay, Dad.” Tim replies, throat tight and voice a little strangled as he hugs him back, falling into the embrace. “I’m okay. They didn’t hurt me, not at all.”

But the hold continues, tight and constraining in the best way as the officers and hospital staff mill around them, until finally Bruce Wayne runs into the room. Bruce, not Batman, frantic if exhausted as he grabs the nearest doctor and demands a report.

“Bruce!” He tries to call, even as his dad moves to guide him out of the room. “Jason, he—”

“Let the doctors take care of it, Tim.” His dad says, “They’ll let him know everything.”

Reluctantly, Tim allows himself to be removed, following his dad down through the ward and out to their waiting car and Dana. He’ll need to give a statement later, but for now the police are happy to let him go, mindful of the traumatic experience he’s just been through.

But in all honesty, the gang with their guns and their threats against him are the last thing on Tim’s mind right now.

All he can think about is the memory of Jason’s fingers holding back onto his, and the one glorious moment where his eyes were open and awake.

*

In a way, it’s like they go back to step one. A sharp jump to a repeat of those initial months after Jason was first hurt, filled with anticipation as they all take turns gathering round his bedside, vying to be the first person to get another glimpse of him waking up again.

Even the doctors are newly hopeful about his chances now. After Tim told them what happened, they conducted more tests, and the resulting scans over the following days reveal a slow but steady increase in brain activity on Jason’s part.

Just a couple days after the attack, Dick almost gives Tim a heart attack when he slips in through his bedroom window in the middle of the night, only to exclaim excitedly about how he’d stopped by to check in on Jason as Nightwing during patrol and seen his fingers twitching in his sleep.

Tim writes no more letters. All the words he has now for Jason are said out loud, spoken in eager encouragement for him to open his eyes, and any thoughts he had before about leaving town for Bludhaven have flown completely out of his head. There’s no way he wants to be anywhere but here when Jason wakes up.

It takes days still, almost another two weeks before they see anything concrete. Sometimes Jason’s fingers will clench into fists in his sleep, and his brow crinkles as he turns his head, seeming to strain against whatever it is he’s dreaming about. But finally the moment comes when his eyes open again, _really open_ , and stay that way for more than just a few seconds.

Tim holds his breath when he notices, as does Bruce, who’s also in the room with him at the time.

“Jason?” He says hoarsely, moving immediately into Jason’s line of sight as he clutches his hand. “Jason, are you…?”

“Bruce…” Jason whispers. “Where…?”

“Safe.” Bruce bows his head down, smiling in a way Tim’s never seen him smile before. There are tears in the corners of his eyes that make him feel like an intruder again, though he can’t bring himself to leave just yet. “You’re safe, son. I promise.”

Jason’s eyelashes flutter as he fights to stay awake. “Home. I want…”

“Soon.” Bruce assures him. “Soon, I promise.”

That’s when Tim edges away from the bedside to go find a doctor.

*

Jason’s strength grows slowly. It’s hard for him stay to awake for long, or even to move and manage more than a few words at a time at first, but he’s stubborn, just as Tim always knew he was. A fighter. He pushes himself without even having to be told, battling for every second of the day that he manages to keep his eyes open.

Tim finds himself retreating to the edges of the hospital room as he recovers, making way for Bruce and Alfred and Dick to be closer to him at first. They’re the people Jason will know and recognise, not him, and in this time that’s what he needs: familiarity, not a stranger who used to watch him sleep. Waking up to discover he’s been in a coma for two years will be a big enough shock on its own, he doesn’t need Tim to deal with as well. Not yet, anyway. It’s better, Tim tells himself, that they stagger the surprises, at least until Jason is ready for more.

That’s the excuse he uses anyway.

The truth is, he feels too shy to try and push his presence on Jason immediately, to the point that he finds his hands shaking from nerves just at the thought. There’s a fear rooted deep within Tim that, after all this time, Jason may not want him. May reject him for… for… he doesn’t know what. He’s been waiting for this moment for so long and now that it’s here....

But finally he knows he can’t wait any longer. Not after Dick pulls him to one side and tells him in no uncertain terms that Jason’s been asking about his soulmarks, about who put them there and when.

“We told him your name, we had to. But you need to be the one who tells him the rest, Tim.” Dick says, firmly but kindly. “And don’t be scared, okay? I know he’s going to like you.”

That’s easy for Dick to say, Tim thinks, he always seems so sure about everything, but still he forces himself to nod in agreement. There’s no more room to delay, he has to do this now.

The lock box is a heavy weight now in his hands as he retrieves it out from its hiding place, full of letters that are carefully ordered by date and time. There’s at least one for every week that passed since Dick originally gave Tim the idea to write them; some short, some long, but all full of meaning.

He knocks on the door first, feeling strange about waiting for the go ahead to walk inside when normally he’s used to just letting himself in. It’s a different hospital room than before, they had to move Jason since the window on the last one was shattered during the kidnapping attempt, and now there’s a permanent security guard on duty at the end of the hall as well, keeping an eye out in case anyone else feels like taking a shot at the younger Wayne heir.

Jason’s voice is quiet when he tells whoever it is outside to come in, but Tim recognises it still. He can feel his heart starting to jackhammer in his chest before he’s even finished opening the door, clutching his failsafe tightly in his arms.

“Hey.” he says quietly, to the boy in the bed.

Jason still looks wan as he sits back against the raised up hospital bed, but he’s wearing a t-shirt now, instead of a plain hospital gown. Bright red against his white skin. There’s a half eaten bowl of porridge on a tray in front of him, and the extra-large television Bruce had installed after he initially woke up is switched on, playing what sounds like children’s cartoons quietly in the background.

Against the white cotton sheets, the soulmarks on Jason’s wrists stand out as brightly as fireworks in the night sky.

It’s quiet but for the creak of the door shutting behind him. Jason stares at him and Tim stares back, their eyes focused on each other until Jason’s own drop down to Tim’s wrists, which he carefully left bare before coming in here, and widen in realisation. “You’re…”

“Tim Drake. My name’s Tim Drake.” he introduces himself as he walks over to the bed. “Nice to meet you.”

“Jason.” He replies, almost stuttering his own name out.

Tim smiles nervously. “I know.”

“Right. Yeah… of course… of course you do.” Jason lifts one of his hands, looking at the mark there for a moment. “So you… you’re really my soulmate then?”

“Uh huh.” Tim licks his lips. He wants to say something dumb like, _Surprise!_ just to try and ease the tension, but holds the urge back. The last thing he wants to do now is make a fool of himself. “And you’re mine.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, wow. You…”

Tim feels his anxiety rocket up another notch as Jason continues to stare at him. “What?”

“You’re kinda… tiny. Dick didn’t mention you were tiny.”

Blood rushes to his face. Of all the things Jason could say, that was the last one Tim expected of him. He scowls, “I’m fifteen. I’m allowed to be.”

“Yeah, but to an extent. Even I was taller at—ow!”

He looks stunned as Tim smacks his arm, and Tim feels his mouth drop open as soon as he realises what it is he’s done. “Oh my God. Oh my God, I’m sorry. I’m so—”

It takes him a moment to realise the huffing, wheezing sound coming from the bed is Jason’s laughter. It’s weak, quiet at the level his voice seems to be stuck at these days, and when he smiles… when he smiles Tim feels his heart do a quadruple somersault into his stomach.

“Was right about you being a dork though.” Jason manages as soon as he recovers. “Nice.”

“And he was right about you being kind of a brat.” Tim returns, still blushing, though now he’s smiling too.

“Guilty as charged.” Jason croaks, then coughs. “Hey, could ya… water. Please?”

Tim puts his lockbox on the bed, before moving with familiar ease around the room as he pours Jason a fresh glass of water from the jug on the side and then hands it to him, helping him sip carefully from the glass. The action puts their wrists right next to each other, and at such proximity the matching identity of their soulmarks is even harder to miss. “Sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.”

Tim hangs his head as he puts the glass back down. “This must be really weird.”

“Kinda.” Jason is watching him intently. It’s like he’s trying to examine every inch of Tim he can see, and then some. “Thought I was being messed with at first and Dick’d drawn it on with sharpie. But you’re real. You’re really real.”

“I uh…” Tim puts his hand on the lockbox. “Here, I brought you this. These.”

“What is it?”

“Letters.” he tells him. “I um.” He stammers at the start, but then the words suddenly just flow out of him. “When it first happened, I was asking everyone about you. Alfred and Dick, Bruce too. And it felt unfair that I was learning all that information, but that when you woke up, you wouldn’t know a thing about me. So I started to write you letters. Every week in fact. There’s over a hundred of them in here which… you don’t have to read them all, but they’re there if you do want to. It’s your choice, though. I thought maybe it would put us on even footing. If you’re interested, that is.”

Jason’s eyes have a strange bright look to them now. He reaches out, putting his hand on top of the lockbox too. Their fingers are so close, Tim swears he can feel the heat of Jason’s skin against his own. “Interested?”

“In me. Us. The fact that we’re soulmates.” Tim smiles stiffly, “I understand though if you’re not. There’s a lot of other stuff you probably want to catch up on first, so…”

“I didn’t say that.” Jason chews the inside of his cheek as he looks at him. “You really did this, for me?”

“Yeah.”

He watches Jason think about it, his dark eyebrows drawn down into a deep frown beneath the thick curls of his hair. His eyes are on the box, and their shared soulmark.

“I’ll read them.”

“Are you sure?” The hope in his voice is everything Tim is used to keeping hidden. But now there it is, open for all the world to see.

“Yeah.” Jason pulls the box towards him. “Gotta keep myself occupied somehow, right? Better than watching more of the crap that’s on TV these days.”

Tim smiles, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the key. He hands it over to Jason, and tries not focus too much on the way his skin tingles with every brush of their fingers. He’s held Jason’s hand so many times over the past two years, so why now does it suddenly feel so exciting and new?

“You’re going home soon, aren’t you?” He asks, to distract himself from the feeling.

“Tomorrow.” Jason nods. “Doc says the best care I can get now will be there. Or some shit like that.”

“I bet you can’t wait.”

Jason laughs again, that almost machine gun rattle. “Yeah, no. Better there than here. Anywhere’s better than here.” He leans back against the pillows, eyes glazing over for a moment. “I hate hospitals.”

“Yeah.” Tim says softly, “Me too.”

They don’t say much more after that. Jason is tired again, and Tim excuses himself as soon as his chin starts to drop down towards his chest, his eyes drooping with the effort of staying awake. Alfred is outside when he leaves the room. How long he’s been there, waiting for Tim to come out, is hard to tell, but Tim nods to him before heading downstairs to catch a taxi home (his dad is adamantly against him taking the bus anywhere anymore, not after what happened at the hospital).

At least Jason has the lockbox now, and he said he’d read the letters. The only thing that’s left for Tim to do is wait.

*

A week later, he gets a call in the middle of the night. The voice on the other end line is rough, familiar and unfamiliar both: Jason’s voice, awake and without the veil of sleep.

“Come over. I know you live just next door. So come over. I need to speak to you.”

He hangs up before Tim can give him an answer.

Sluggishly, he pulls on his clothes and climbs out of his bedroom window. It’s something Tim didn’t have to do much before his dad started living at home with him on a more permanent basis, but the route is one he’s had marked since he was just nine-years old. The only thing missing to make this different from back then is the weight of the camera around his neck, and it’s with a jolt that Tim realises how little a role photography has played in his life while Jason was asleep, as if a world without him in it was maybe not one worth taking photographs of.

Living at Bruce Wayne’s house and being a part of Batman’s team over the last few months has granted Tim certain privileges when accessing the manor, including his own key. He uses it now to slip in through the back of the house without being noticed, then makes his way slowly up the stairs to the room he knows used to be Jason’s, and hopefully, still is.

After gently tapping his knuckles against the wood, he tries the door handle. He feels like he’s going to be sick when he finds that the door that was always locked before now opens easily under his touch.

Inside, the room is dark but for a single lamp. The yellow light of which clearly illuminates Jason where he’s sitting, cross-legged in the middle of the bed with piles of letters strewn around him. They cover every inch of the king-sized mattress like taffeta; some have even spilled down onto the floor, and Tim swallows as he recognises the marks of his own penmanship alongside the newspaper clippings he’d so carefully glued in as evidence of his claims.

Jason looks up at him sharply when he comes in, then seems to relax when he realises it’s only Tim. He lifts up his arm, which still lacks much of the muscle mass it once had, to beckon him closer.

“You uh,” Tim sits down on the edge of the bed, wincing at the sound of paper crinkling under him. “You wanted to see me?”

True to the promise he’d made to Jason in one of his earliest letters, he’s never been in here before. The room is a boy’s room, much like his own. But the posters are outdated, and the stereo old. Despite this, the shelf full of books that lines one wall is clean and dusted, and through layers of white paper covering the bed. Tim manages to catch a glimpse of deep green covers that look much newer when compared to everything else inside.

“I finished them.” Jason fills in for him. “Every last one. Took me all week. You write a lot.”

“I figured you’d want to know everything.” Tim tries, shivering as he recalls more clearly all the personal details he wrote in those letters.

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks.”

“And your dad, I… I’m sorry… he’s okay now though, right?”

“Yeah.” Tim nods. “He’s okay.”

Jason draws in a shaky breath. “You know, last week when you spoke to me, I kept thinking afterwards, ‘I know your voice’. It freaked me out a little.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” Jason corrects him. “You sounded so familiar, it was like maybe I dreamed you the whole time or… I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t completely deaf while I was out.”

“We all spoke to you, Jason. The doctors said it could help.”

Jason nods jerkily. “Yeah. I read that too, before…” he pales, looking down. “The last thing I remember is… is that freak. Laughing, you know? Laughing the way he always does. Then I wake up and I’m a few inches taller, I'm covered in burn scares, and I got stubble growing on my jaw. Fuck, I don’t even know how to shave, Dick keeps having to help me. I could barely speak at first, and I can still hardly walk alone - not even to the bathroom. Two years of my life is gone, just like that. And then… then there’s you.”

Tim feels his throat tightening more and more with every word, but he doesn’t know what to say in response, so he just lets Jason keep talking.

“Then there’s you, and all these letters you wrote me. The flowers in my hospital room.” he smiles crookedly still, the same way he did when he was Robin. “Never really liked flowers, but they were still nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Tim says softly.

Jason scratches at his wrist. He looks more like a boy now than ever, a fifteen-year old in a seventeen-year old’s skin. It’s a strange thought, that underneath their outward appearances, they’re more or less the same age when it comes to the amount of life experience they have under their belts. “Tim.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t expect the question, or the way Jason looks at him, wide-eyed and vulnerable in the lamplight. Desperate even, as he seeks whatever it is he’s after. “What?” Tim asks, to buy himself time.

“All these letters, you wrote them for me. You visited me almost every day while I was in that coma, and you protected me when those thugs tried to hold us hostage. At least that’s what Bruce said. So what do you want?”

It’s a critical question, Tim realises. A make or break kind of moment.

“We’re soulmates,” he starts carefully. “And I guess… no, I know I want to explore what that means. But only if you want to as well. You’ve always been important to me, Jason, ever since you took over as Robin. The coolest kid I ever saw.” He can see a blush start to spread across Jason’s face. “Discovering you’re my soulmate was the most amazing moment ever, and I guess at the time, one of the worst. I thought I’d messed everything up by never trying to say hello to you before, and now…” he takes in a deep breath and looks Jason dead in the eye. “Now, I never want to let an opportunity like that pass me by ever again.”

Jason’s lips part slightly, glistening with saliva where he’s licked them. “Timothy Drake, are you asking me out?”

Bolder than he’s ever felt in his life before, Tim nods. “I guess I am. But if that’s too much for you now, I can wait too.” he hastens to add, “It’s not a now or never thing, you know? Just whenever you’re ready.”

Despite his words, he’s not ready for Jason’s hand to grab his, to pull him further forwards up the bed until they’re sitting next to each other, and then to keep hold of it instead of letting go. Jason takes his other hand next, lifting them both up so their soulmarks sit brightly next to each, unmistakably a matched pair.

“Tim, after missing out on the last two years of my life, I can safely say waiting is the last thing I want to do.”

“Are you sure?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”

Then Jason’s leaning forwards with a determined glint in his eyes, and Tim’s kind of glad he never let himself imagine what it might be like to kiss him before, because he’s entirely certain that the fantasy could never live up to the reality that exists now. His mouth is warm, his lips soft and chapped from where he’s bitten them, but none of that matters now. None of the rest of it matters as they draw apart again, and Tim swears he can feel the world grinding to a halt around them as he squeezes their hands even more tightly together.

“Wow… you just...”

Jason looks shy about it, like he’s uncertain that it was the right thing to do, but pleased at the same time. “Yeah. I uh, wanted to see what it’d feel like.”

“Wow.” Tim says again. “I don’t know about you, but on my end it felt pretty…”

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

Jason nods as he leans back against his pillows with Tim’s hands still clasped between his. There’s a tired, happy smile on his face that Tim feels like he's been waiting centuries to see.

“It should. That’s how it’s supposed to go in fairy tales, y’know? The sleeper gets woken up with a kiss, it’s a rule.”

“Are you saying you’re a princess?”

“No, I’m saying I’m tired. But…” Jason swallows as he flicks his eyes down towards the covers. “Going to sleep these days, it’s a little scary. Figure I might sleep better if I know there’s someone around who can wake me up afterwards.”

Tim’s heart aches painfully for a moment. “I can do that.”

“Good, 'cuz I wasn’t exactly planning on giving you a choice.”

Jason watches as Tim moves to lie down next to him. There’s green in his eyes as well as blue, Tim realises. He was never able to tell before, not until he got up this close.

“You remember now…”

“I’ll wake you up.” Tim promises, his lips still tingling from the kiss. “Always.”

Jason smiles at him then, and though he still tries to fight it for a while longer, does eventually fall asleep. Tim on the other hand manages to stay awake a little longer, holding onto his hand and staring in wonder at the boy beside him, as well as all the foundations of what could be their future life together strewn around them.

Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t. But at least for now he has tangible proof that Jason wants to try, and that’s better than anything he had before.

And with that thought held firmly in his mind, Tim too closes his eyes.

*

A year later, Jason squirms as Tim finishes fixing the cape around his neck. The new, improved Robin suit is a sight to see, and he’s proud of the hand he had in coming up with the design - even if the loss of Jason’s bare legs to the world felt like it was bordering on a crime against humanity.

“Are you done yet, Mom?” Jason teases him, tapping his gloved hand restlessly against his thigh.

“Almost.” Tim smiles, before reaching for the pièce de résistance. The stylised ‘R’ that doubles as a shuriken, a last resort weapon should Jason ever find himself disarmed in every other way. He fixes it to his boyfriend’s breast, then smooths his hands down Jason’s arms before taking a step back so he can take the whole effect in. “You look great, Jay.”

“You think so?” He grins, then does a little spin for Tim’s benefit. Pirouetting on his toes almost like a ballerina. “Can’t believe I’m finally doing this again. Took way too long to convince the old man I was ready.”

“He’s just worried about you.” Tim chides him as he steps back in closer, taking both of Jason’s hands in his own again. He misses seeing his eyes behind the domino mask, and the white streak in his hair they’d had to dye out as a precaution, since it was too obvious an identifying mark for anyone looking between Robin and Bruce Wayne’s adopted son. “He’ll see it tonight though, you’re ready for this again.”

“I know I am.” Jason smirk widens. “Especially with you whispering sweet intel in my ear the whole night through.”

Tim revels in the little flush of pleasure the remark gives him. “Just don’t expect anything too personal. Remember, Bruce and Nightwing are keyed into that channel as well.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jason rolls his eyes, or seems to under the mask, before leaning forward to give Tim a warm kiss. “I’ll remember.”

“Hey lovebirds!” Dick calls teasingly across the cave then. “Quit stalling, it’s time to go!”

This time Tim is the one who rolls his eyes. “I think he’s been looking forward to this even more than you have.”

“Looking forward to me embarrassing his ass out there, is what.” Jason says conspiratorially. “You with me on that, babe?”

“Always.” Tim smirks, then stands up on his tiptoes to kiss him once more, then a third time before letting him go. “Now get out of here. Go have fun kicking bad guy butt.”

“I always do.” Jason laughs before jogging away from him. He’s quivering with excitement, raising his hand to meet Dick’s in a fist bump next to the car before ducking under the older vigilante’s attempt to drag him into a headlock.

Tim smiles as he sits down in the broad leather chair at the computer, ready to play his part too.

Finally, after three years, Robin is ready to fly again.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr!](http://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)


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